


knitting nightmare

by thisisthenoid



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Eye Trauma, Gross, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Over the Top, Unsanitary, Unsettling, gross eye stuff, intrusions, now with a drawing!, re-done fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-06 13:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14057538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthenoid/pseuds/thisisthenoid
Summary: it's time for the big crunch.





	1. it's a hell of a scene but there's no story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original date of writing/posting - 4/4/2017  
> re-do started - 17/2/2018  
> https://sta.sh/0123ihcpehs2  
> https://sta.sh/0m217dtl8e0  
> a complete remake of an old fic i rather liked, when the weaver was about to be updated into the game. i still love them old bones  
> ive been on this too long

it had been a tremendous mistake, to head down into the caves. a mistake, to follow his accurate and perilous trek; first to the atrium's maze, and then to the ancient gateway itself. a mistake, to correctly ensemble those stupid bones into whatever the ugly beast before them was. 'it would be fine', wilson assured him, as he slotted the strange key into the old gateway, the cave humming to life with the shadows power. 'what could go wrong', wilson asked in a foreign voice as he held out the beating shadow atrium to the fossil.

 

and woodie noticed it - he noticed that malicious spark in the mans eye that he didn't recognise. wilson's expression was unlike anything woodie had seen before, as if he'd turned into an entirely different person the moment they'd entered the caves. despite neither of them experiencing any of the atrium before, wilson seemed to understand how everything worked from the get go; add the fact that woodie had never seen the key nor the heart before that moment, and the situation became inherently more terrifying. how did he come across such information? where did he get the strange items from? how did he know the atrium even existed? the constant was unkind - it didn't typically tell you the new things its queen had added. how did wilson _know_?

 

woodie knew he should have done something to prevent the ordeal earlier. he should have stopped the weirdness while the problem was still young instead of letting it carry out. he had been a gullible fool.

 

wilson's true self awoke when he pushed the heart into the assembled mess of bones. the bones gathered watery shadows in an instant, which granted it the power to reanimate itself. its reinforced skull bared three hateful eyes that leered down at them in red specks, and the shadows solidified around the fossils, its back burning with the left over ink. it roared upon its creation, causing the atrium to tremor in fear. wilson looked petrified as he glared at the thing, the horror of his mindless actions setting in deep. they both stumbled back as the beast crackled words they couldn't catch, and it detached its head from its shoulders to try and smash them with a sickly ease. they narrowly avoided the whoosh of the skull, and the pair could only watch in amazement as it clicked the skull back on to its neck. 

 

wilson went to say something, but the reanimated skeleton locked on to him, its advance quick and haunting, and all he could do was back off from it. his speech got cut off entirely, his mind running on panic and dread. woodie watched dumbfounded before he found his feet, and he pelted into a rush of movement, thoughts flying at a speed he couldn't keep up with. he whipped out his dark sword, clutching it tight, and with a cry, he aimed a valiant slash at the skeletons legs. the shards of shattered shadow that flew from the attack were quickly refilled with the ink, and the skeleton paid him no mind, its head already high in the air. with wilson successfully cornered, it smashed the skull down onto wilson's head that made him buckle and harshly fall to his hands and knees, an audible **crunch** echoing around the atrium. it was only made worse by the fact that wilson wasn't wearing any armour. suddenly the noise in the atrium was too loud, the gate roaring with a build up of energy, and woodie saw wilson clutching at his head, his other hand holding himself off the ground. the skeleton turned to him, and somehow, its skull was smug.

 

it was only when the monster swung for another head smash that woodie remembered his log suit. he yelped and managed to side step away from the attack. he slid the armour on before he readied himself up for another slash, holding the dark sword side-ways. he tried to ignore his rapidly declining sanity as he kept his attention locked on it, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be barricaded in a cocoon of multiple shadow monsters. and despite everything that was going on, woodie could hear wilson's pained wheezes as clear as day. if he strained enough, woodie would see spots of red dotting the floor at wilson's front.

 

woodie went in for another attack, but the skeleton suddenly stopped dead in its advances, its breaths laborious and heavy. its third eye seemed to glow the brightest, and woodie felt his heart drop to his stomach, a deathly sickness overtaking his senses that made him freeze up. the foreboding energy that flooded the tiny space spoke volumes of what was to come, and it wasn't long before the edges of woodie's mind throbbed with veiny reds.

 

" _ **I will save you.**_ "

 

its voice was wet, goopy, yet scratchy and broken up at the same time, and it made woodie's already frazzled mind buzz into an even further state of insanity. it continued to stay stock still, its only movement being its unnatural intakes. to woodie, it felt as if he was falling; all he could see was its glaring skull, all he could hear was his frantic heartbeat, all he could feel was a numbing anxiety

 

the eerie calm was short lived, broken when woodie heard wilson's heart wrenching gasp behind the skeleton. he saw him lean his entire body backwards until it looked like he was without his head, his claws a quiver by his sides before they rose up to clench deep grips into his hair. it sounded like he was drowning in his own skin, weak croaks and whines leaving his dry throat in cry's. he wanted to go - to rush to wilson's side and help with whatever was happening, but the skeleton kept _looking_ at him, and no matter how much his conscience screamed, the thought of walking felt impossible.

 

the skeleton only made a move when it was sure woodie wouldn't, turning to face wilson's direction. woodie noticed the skeletons skull cock to the side, and if he had to chalk it to an emotion, he'd say it was from amusement. that was probably his sanity trying to make the situation sane - yet as he spectated wilson's shivering body and the monsters evaporating back, saneness couldn't feel further away.

 

" _ **It must be this way.**_ "

 

it rose its claws into the air to make a sumance, and from the ground oozed a lot of _somethings_ , things that woodie was sure he'd seen before. they wiggled like worms as they popped out of the floor, as black as the shadows that encompassed the bones, and they rushed for wilson. the bile in woodie's throat almost spilt to the floor when the fluffy-necked worms slithered up wilson's body, to his face, and then down his throat without slowing down. wilson gagged and spluttered but didn't budge once. there weren't very many worms, at least four or five, but it was more than enough for it to be a severely uncomfortable sight, and that was from _his_ point of view. he couldn't even _imagine_ what wilson was going through.

 

achingly slowly did all the worms force their way down. the horrible noises finally stopped, and wilson slumped his body forward with no sound, his arms drooping to his sides and his posture deflating. the front of his torn red vest was marked with the worms darkness, leading their trails to his mouth. and the sight woodie was faced with when he rose his face to him was somehow far worse than witnessing the forced intrusions.

 

his good eye wasn't to be considered an eye anymore, it was more like a spinning top. a spinning top of darkness and anger and murder. black lines spun and wriggled out of wilson's head, black leaked from his hair and his mouth and from under his patch as if his entire body was weeping ink, with no more blood to be seen. to say he'd acted possessed before was an understatement when woodie watched wilson climb to his feet with the shakiness of a puppet on strings. the beast was a reanimated skeleton, and wilson was quickly becoming a reanimated carcass.

 

" _ **I**_ **must** _**do this, for your sake.**_ "

 

wilson hobbled forward on shaky legs, and the tar like substance dripped from his face, onto his clothes, onto the floor, until he was leaving a spotty trail of the tarry nightmare fuel behind. from his pocket was pulled his own dark sword, his grip around the handle tight and unforgiving, and woodie's entire body was begging him to shift, to run, to speak up, to defend, to do _anything_ , but he was frozen in place, and now wilson was right beside the ancient fuelweaver, his eye spinning rapidly, his patch stained with the fuel, his mouth in a grimace that was aimed towards _him_. the dark sword didn't shine - it was physically incapable of shining due to its nature, but that was the only way woodie could describe it. as wilson pointed the sword his way with mindless intent to harm, the sharp tip shone, and somehow, it still wasn't enough encouragement to bring woodie to his senses. he _hated_ seeing wilson like that. he _hated_ thinking so many things in such little time. he _hated_ the situation.

 

" _ **You deserve this.**_ "

 

wilson rose the sword, in a stance ready to swing, and he was encroaching towards woodie again, his bitterness becoming more pronounced with each rockity step. finally, woodie took a step away, and then another, until his back hit the harsh rock of the spiky gates that locked them in, and the fuelweaver was laughing at him, taunting him, and his head felt heavier, full of cotton and thuds and howls, the spiky gates wouldn't drop down for him and when wilson stood before him with the sword posed for a strike he realised he was trapped in and he could see the skeletons skull behind wilson smug and arrogant despite its lack of facial features and wilson wasn't even _breathing_ his face was coated in fuel woodie couldn't move again the sword was getting closer to his face and he couldn't move move move move move _move move_ _movemovemove **movemove**_

 

" ** _You have been_ betrayed.** "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pic is by my absolute best bud louie!! he drew it for me when he first read it as a surprise gift in a 6-part thing yonks ago and i love him???? hes the best nerd???  
> check out his blog at http://hocopoko.tumblr.com/ !!! his ocs and art in general are cute as fuck


	2. designed in all its glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> original - 31/5/2017  
> re-do started - 7/3/2018  
> this thing was a pain, i hate-

the ice from woodie's feet melted when wilson jabbed the sword forward with an inhuman quickness and deadly aim. he let out an undignified scream, ducking to his hands and knees, and he felt the wind from the sword **woosh** over his head until he heard it harshly collide against the rocky spikes. without another thought, woodie scrambled away, distancing himself away from the tight situation until he was up and facing wilson's back. all he could do was watch as wilson dislodged the sword from the rocks grip, layers of dust fluttering to the ground, and soon they were face to face again. the back of woodie's legs stiffened when he gazed into wilson's spinning eye, yet even with his attention fixated on the horror before him, he couldn't miss the fuelweaver stood a ways away from them. even within his peripheral, its downright arrogant skull was clear as day, with its taunting snake eyes and cheshire grin. the skeleton wasn't intervening with their fight; it was _waiting_. it made woodie feel so mad. it was a downright _coward_.

 

but even with the red hot anger coursing through his veins, it wasn't enough to melt the ice block that had returned to his feet.

 

" _ **Let the fuel take shape.**_ "

 

wilson hobbled forward with the dark sword held out in promise, and woodie didn't do anything to prevent it. he _couldn't_ do anything - he was utterly powerless. the only thing he could do was stand and watch and tremor and hope and pray that wilson snapped out of the trance himself, because he highly doubted he'd be able to help him now. so dearly did he want to say something meaningful, or note-worthy; something that could break wilson's soul free from the skeletons grasp, but his tongue had grown useless and heavy in his head. words were far from his reach, as was the notion of saving his friend.

 

woodie felt his mind slip further into its insanity when wilson's patch slumped to the floor in a puddle of black, revealing what had been hidden underneath. unlike the spinning top, his right eye was a void of nothing - a void of weeping fuel, a void of a deep set vex, a void of loathing and hatred, and all of its intensity was aimed directly at _him_.

 

it was enough to pause wilson from his advances. woodie's stomach continued to roll when wilson's free claw rose to his empty socket. he heard the gross squelches as clear as day when he stuck his claws inside his head, deeper and deeper, the spillage heavier down his cheek, and his resentment was clear in the way he glared woodie down. his claws wriggled inside the eye hole, as if trying to feel for the eyeball that was no longer there. a dull, wet  **pop** sounded when wilson pulled his claw from the socket, his skin as black and nightmarish as the fuel, and he rose the sword at woodie again. a spinning top and a void bore into him, his mouth twisted into a snarl, and his wicked advances were far quicker than before. woodie flexed his hand around the hilt of his dark sword, and it became increasingly clear that he'd have to defend himself.

 

'i want my eye back.' wilson sounded under water. perhaps, in his state, he was.

 

'w-what?!'

 

he cut low for woodie's stomach, but woodie blocked the attack with his sword, making the weapons hiss with dull friction. wilson's strength, like the rest of him, had become monstrous. woodie forced all his weight into his arms, and he managed to push the swords away from himself, giving wilson enough momentum to be tossed backwards. he had a chance to gasp for air before wilson came barrelling towards him again, the darkness above his head this time. he jabbed down in lefts and rights with blinding speed; all were blocked with panicked eyes, and he could tell that wilson was growing more frustrated. the lines from his head swung like flags in the wind, and he leaked far more fuel with every advance. his eye hole was a dispenser of nightmare fuel that wouldn't stop leaking.

 

he was growing tired - with each block, his energy depleted, and he knew wilson wouldn't back down. it was finally his downfall as wilson batted the sword from his hand, it landing with a dull **thud** away from the scene. a scream, unlike anything woodie had ever heard from the man, ripped from wilson's throat, and all woodie saw was a blur of darkness heading straight for his head. it was the sheer primal instinct that saved him a second time as he squatted down low, the sword uncomfortably close to meeting his brain. the only thing that flashed through woodie's mind was a continuous choir of "oh fuck". on autopilot, he charged forward, knocking mindlessly into wilson, and he knocked him down. everything was a buzz as woodie landed his entire weight onto the others midsection to keep him in place.

 

his quivering hands latched on to wilson's left wrist, and he tried to pry the sword from his grip, doing everything in his power to ignore his spiteful leer. inaudible gibberish spewed from him as wilson fought back, his right claw raking down his sides with an uncomfortable sharpness that was enough to tear his clothes, but woodie kept his focus on removing the sword. the world was a blur, and for what felt like an eternity, he finally knocked the weapon from wilson's hold. he felt knees pound at his back, each one causing his headache to flare with more intensity. it was out of his exhaustiveness that he allowed wilson's wrist to slip free.

 

'you're not taking my other eye!'

 

'please wilson, snap outta it-'

 

claws landed flat on his chest, shoving him off, and he landed on his back as if he were drunk. both were quick to return to their feet, their looks never faltering. even when wilson retrieved his sword with a deliberate slowness, he never broke contact. from behind wilson stepped the forgotten fuelweaver, its grin impossibly there, and woodie's anger flooded to him again as it stood behind the taken. his aches and pains were replaced for a new found energy, as adrenaline fuelled as it was. he was going to tear it apart.

 

" _ **Tell me, dear puppet,**_ " the ancient fuelweaver wasted no time in its announcements, far too happy with how things were panning out. its watch was as scrutinising and full of blank anger as wilson's. " ** _who was the one that plagued your eye? Removed your sight? Made your agony last for seven full moons and longer?_** " and just like that, woodie's energy drained upon the crackled words. the aches attacked his spirit far worse than before, and his soul quickly became a lost cause.

 

'woodie.' it was a drowned hiss, a deep set nettle, with a voice that didn't belong to him. he was advancing again, his enraged eye spinning and spinning and spinning, and woodie had nothing but his self to defend with. he could do nothing but look on in shock. 

 

" _ **Who is the one that openly mocks your ideas? The one that destroys your creations? The one that makes you suffer?**_ "

 

'woodie.' he was stunned, too stunned to move; tears dammed his eyes and wilson was right there, just an inch away from him, that sword any closer to his person and it'd cleave him clean in half

 

" _ **Who is the one that should pay the same price in return?**_ "

 

' ** _woodie is_**.'

 

he must have blacked out - one second wilson was holding the sword above his shoulder, in the next, woodie was clutching the edges of the sword with both hands, the pain intense and numbing. his resistance was short lived, an unforgiving grip clasping his hair. he found out where in the atrium they'd ended up as his head got smashed into the roaring gateway, white stars his only vision. his hands got sliced further as the dark sword was slid forward, and then a searing hot pain exploded in his left shoulder. at first he couldn't feel the blade protruding his body, the shock and dizziness too dominating, but like the fuel dripping onto his face, the realisation oozed slowly and steadily into his core. the agony came clearer when the blade was ruthlessly twisted. he looked up, and in his hazy view, he saw the spinning top, the liquidy void, the smear of satisfaction, the river of fuel, all on his friends face, and he hated it

 

wilson wasted no time, unkindly retracting the sword and pushing woodie to the floor. he couldn't tell if he was screaming. suddenly the world was moving too fast. blood gushed from his open wounds, his legs felt like metal bars, his already frazzled mind falling further and further, wilson loomed over him with the stained dark sword in hand, eyes a ghost of resentment, every inch of him a warning. he seemed to move in a blur, and woodie couldn't move, then wilson was sat on his chest, the sword too close to his face, wilson's fuel spotted his soul, his entire body had become unresponsive, his vision had become red and dark and warped and the skeleton was stood over wilson's shoulder watching waiting laughing taunting why wasn't wilson fighting back why was he doing this why couldn't he move

 

" ** _You will be_ unravelled _._** "

 

* * *

 

 

*gross eye start*

the swords tip unfocused until an ache unlike anything he had ever experienced jabbed into his left eye. it felt like it was imploding on itself as the sword sank deeper into the iris. it ejected into the other side of the eyeball, his vision swamping as black as the weapon. he couldn't hear the snaps and tears of the tubes over his voice as wilson began to twist and pull the eyeball out at a tilted angle. _slowly_. it got unhooked from the skull, caught on the edge of the sword, and wilson began to pull until all of the special sounding tubes bent out with the eye, and the squelches it emitted were none too pleasing to the ears. his brain cried along with his vocal cords, every inch of his body on fire but he couldn't fight back couldn't focus on anything but the pain the pain the pain

 

the further wilson pulled the eyeball out, the more of the insides were put on show. it was like an anatomy lesson with a living subject rather than a dead frog. the trochlea sling finally cracked from the strain, and woodie was retching and spluttering, his voice hoarse and scratchy, blood trickling down his face the same way wilson's fuel ran, but too much, it was too much blood, it was all mixing in with the tears and the wobbly ink, he couldn't see; it was completely out of the socket now, half disconnected from the skull, all kinds of veins and nerves dangling down his face, some still connected from the eyeball to the inside of his head, stretched out in thin strands, his sclera bloodshot; it was too much, too much too much too much too much too much too much too much

 

wilson lurched the sword back with no mercy, and a horrid **pop** echoed around the atrium, woodie's eye flung halfway across. he didn't feel himself fall backwards and hit the floor, didn't feel the fuel and blood heavily sink in to his clothes, didn't hear what the fuelweaver said next. everything was broken and red and red red red red and woodie didn't have the energy to do anything, all of it spent on his bawling, and he was fading out, the familiar coils of death like the circles of buzzards overhead, it was all faint and cold and agonising and painful painful painful painful painful painful painful

*gross eye end*

* * *

 

woodie jolted awake with a shaky hand covering his left side. sweat beaded his face, his good eye blown wide with adrenaline, lips wobbling as both nightmare and memory rebounded in his head with its fresh and familiar clutches. with haste, he glanced around the area, spotting only darkness and a thin strip of faint light, which didn't help calm his mind at all. he jolted towards the light with a dying desperateness; desperate to get out of the dark, desperate to see something to prove that he wasn't completely blind completely blind completely-

 

the fire on the outside glowed brightly in the night, the blaze high. he saw it as clear as crystal. he saw the glint of the ice-box, and the meat racks faintly hiding in the night. the numerous chests and a wooden sign was in his sight, and the view helped calm his nerves. the hole behind the patch throbbed from the nightmares alarm clock, and he sighed a heavy release, a hand rubbing at the hidden spot. he still wasn't used to it. he didn't know if he'd ever get used to it. if the fires brightness was anything to go by, then he hadn't been asleep long.

 

" _hey, are you alright? ... another nightmare?_ " lucy's voice was soft, a welcome respite to clear the fog, and again he sighed as he turned to the axe with an exhausted smile. so many nightmares since then. " _do you wanna talk about it?_ "

 

'ah, 'mm alright. don't you worry none, eh?' woodie could sense her glare, and his weak expression fell. he had to remember that she had seen everything, too.

 

" _i'm not thick, woodie._ "

 

'eh.'

 

nothing more was said as woodie huddled down in the tent, making sure the flap was spread just enough so he could see the faint light.

 

the incident had been a moon ago. he wasn't alright. sometimes the pain would spark - sometimes too intense for him to think straight, to chop trees, to do anything but cower under the branches and wait for the ache to disappear enough for him to be partially functional again. it had been unbearable after the night he'd turned - at least, on the first full moon it had been. he didn't know if it would get any better. he sincerely hoped it would. his eye was irreplaceable, and no matter how many times he resurrected himself, it was never coming back.

 

wilson had taken to hiding. woodie had seen hide nor tail of the man since he'd awoken on the surface - only a crafted piece of cloth and a spare life-giving-amulet left by his side. 

 

he didn't blame wilson. never would he ever say that the event was his fault. he wanted wilson to know that; to know he didn't blame him for his ripped eye. he wanted wilson to know that there was _nothing_ to even forgive, that there was nothing to beat himself up over, because lord knows he would be. he would be tearing himself apart, and woodie didn't want that. somewhere in the constant, he would be crying himself to sleep, and mistreating himself for something he believed was his fault. he could be keeping himself dead, and how would he know?

 

" _i'm sure he's fine._ " lucy said once the sun started to peek through the trees, casting flaky shadows on the yellow turned fields. the heavy depression in woodie's heart stayed even as her comforting words filled his head. the depression had stayed ever since he'd woken up without an eye. his hand subconsciously rested on the patch, and he didn't bother to move to start his daily chores. he stared at a tree just a ways away from him, and wondered if he was seeing it right.

 

'i'm sure he is.' was his empty reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took five minuets to take that fucking screenshot pghfsdhj  
> edit 16/5/2018 for some reason ao3 keeps removing the images which is annoying but fair


	3. to set you up and knock you down

at last, after days and days of a mindless walk, he finally saw him. him, who stood shaky on his feet and walked as if he too was a lost soul. black dripped from the moth chewed holes in his clothes and skin just like the first time. it really _was_ him; the red vest, the W shaped hair, the nightmarish claws - it _was_ him, it really was him; it had to be him, he believed it was him, oh he'd found him after so so long

 

a true joy he hadn't felt in moons exploded in his chest as he watched the others wobbly movements, his brain ignoring his anatomy and strangeness and only focusing on his happiness. he was jovial to have found his friend again - after loosing lucy, he couldn't take it on his own. too many grudges, too much strain to go from having company to being by your lonesome. but now he wouldn't be alone, not anymore - he'd found wilson, wilson was alive even after the incident, he _had_ to be alive, look, he was moving on his own, he was breathing, and sure it sounded wheezy and laborious and full of pain, but he was _alive_ , and he just wanted to-wanted to-

 

'wilson!' his shout was desperate as he charged over to the man, blind to everything else but him. 'my goodness, am i glad to see you! i haven't had a soul to speak to, eh, you're a sight for a sore eye!' wilson slowly turned his head to regard him, bones snapping under the movement. his patch was missing, letting his eye hole bare witness to the world. just like the first time. nightmare fuel trekked down from the socket, it stained his tarnished clothes, it left a wobbly trail in the grass that turned the green blades a starchy brown. his claws twitched, one hand missing a digit, bleached bones poking through the black skin of his arms to bake under the sun, his mouth hung open with no teeth to be seen. the only thing that seemed to be in tact was his hair, and even that was a thin stretch.

 

wilson glared straight through woodie as woodie's eye dotted with mirth. wilson's body jerked unsteadily, head tilting unnaturally to the left to take in the foolish man. a strange black cloud emitted from his mouth as it creaked further open, and more fuel flowed from his eyeless socket.

 

' _you_?' yet even with wilson's irregularity's, his voice rang as though nothing had changed, his tone clear and british and judging. 'well aren't i _just_ **_lucky_**.' woodie must have been deaf if he didn't hear the sarcasm. he remained obliviously happy. 'you didn't even try, you know that? you didn't even _try_ to break me free of its grip. you stood there, and watched, and by the time you started calling out, it was too late. _you_ let it happen.' he took a rockity step forward, his entire form creaking like his spine was about to snap. fuel flowed from every hole in his person as he spoke, as if the anger was making it pulsate out, but woodie didn't see it, didn't notice it, too wrapped up in his own mind about the happiness of finding his former friend. the colour red in wilson's vest wasn't visible anymore, the garment of clothing too soaked in the darkness of fuel.

 

'and you dare show your face again? even after i went away? you dare find me, and taunt me, and remind me of what i did? what i did to you?' a three fingered claw rose, splaying itself out on the patched side of woodie's cheek. it was dreadfully cold. the fuel kept leaking, the smoke kept dancing into the air, and his melted expression never changed. 'you can't even see me, can you?' woodie's gloved hands wrapped around wilson's wrist, holding on tight, weakened bones cracking under his grip, the tears running freely as he ignored his words.

 

'i'm just glad i found ya,' was all he sobbed, holding on. he held on even as wilson's wrist snapped off his arm. the stump slumped back to his side, and woodie clutched his disembodied claw. 'i've missed you so much wilson, after lucy was lost i've been all alone, you don't gotta beat yourself up no more, i wasn't mad, i was _never_ mad, i _never_ once blamed you, oh i'm so glad i found you, please come back, i'm not mad, i missed you, please don't leave me again,'

 

'you shouldn't have come back, woodie.' wilson said, a deep set sadness in his voice. he seemed to be getting smaller; his body melted into the grass, the goopy fluid spreading out, marking it with darkness and decay and death. yet woodie remained blind, following wilson's tarnished eyes but never seeing what he was becoming. he held on to his detached claw like it were a life raft, tears in his eye, joyful, relieved tears, and his bottom lip shivered intensely, watching wilson become more and more of nothing. his clothes burnt to the floor, the skin from his arms disconnecting in strings or dropping in clumps that made an audible **splat** when collided with the grass. he was literally fading away. the smoke grew worse and worse, and all woodie could do was cry and cry and cry.

 

'i'm sorry, woodie.' his voice remained painfully his. woodie kept crying. 'i'm sorry i made you half blind. i'm sorry i took you down there. i'm sorry.' the tears wouldn't stop.

 

'i'm so glad i found ya.' he was just a puddle. he was unresponsive. woodie's hands were covered in a black substance, wilson's claw long since perished with the rest of him, staining his plaid in splotches. the pain behind his right eye throbbed something awful. he couldn't stop crying.

 

wilson wasn't talking anymore. the silence was deafening. he could hear his heartbeat, he could hear his pain, he could hear his tears he couldn't stop stop stop stop stop stop

 

and then he woke up. it wasn't with a start, or a panicked gasp. he was instantly aware of where he was; he knew that lucy was beside him, he knew there was light outside of his tent from the stone pit. he knew he hadn't been asleep long. his minds eye wouldn't allow him the simple pleasure of rest.

 

it had been days - hell, months, since then. he hadn't exactly kept count of how long had past. he knew wilson was probably dead. ... no, there was no "probably"s, he _was_ most certainly dead. there was no point in sugar coating the obvious.

 

a pain cracked in the back of his head, as was per the usual schedule of waking up. he drew the tent blinds open to look upon the roaring fire, and as he massaged the back of his head with a sweaty palm, he supposed he'd be better off waiting for the sun to rise than trying to get any more "sleep". lucy said nothing - she hadn't said much of anything for the past few nights, but that was alright.

 

woodie was content with the fire being his only conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt put a date to this one, but if i had to guess, somewhere around november maybe? december?  
> lack of motivation prevented me from adding this to the one posted on the main ao3 at the time, and i was going to delete it, but for some reason i saved it so here it is  
> thank you for reading this if you did!


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